Friday Night Fights
by krazegirl
Summary: A series of oneshots involving House and company. Second chapter now posted. I'm gonna call this one 'hints of huddy'.
1. Better That We Break

FRIDAY NIGHT FIGHTS

AN: This is my first House attempt because I write for Bones, timesucker that those stories tend to be. I'm not sure how to classify this genre of writing... basically I've taken the lyrics to the Maroon 5 song "Better that we break" and made it the crux of the dialogue for this oneshot. So, technically a songfic? I don't know. Disclaimers and such are generally legally and technically useless but, no, I don't own Maroon 5's music or House. Lyrics are in italics.

Chapter 1: Better That We Break

Lisa Cuddy sighed, peering out the window and down on a solitary figure. She picked up the phone and dialed a familiar number, one she'd used with more frequency after the unfortunate events of Dr. Gregory House's infarction.

"Stacy? Found him... yeah... back on the roof... sure, use the fifth story access across from the janitor's closet... You're welcome." Lisa replaced phone and watched. It was nearly dark, the setting sun providing little illumination behind the thickening clouds to the west. It was going to be a long, wet Friday night which meant a big night for the ER. She waited until the door swong open and she saw the angry form of the constitutional lawyer, the same woman who had made her cripple the brilliant diagnostician, storm up to her boyfriend.

Cuddy suppressed another sigh and began to mentally run through the list of possible cases for House. He was back on duty starting Monday and it might take all weekend to get a case that his two remaining fellows couldn't solve without his brilliance and would occupy him long enough for her to find yet another case. One last glance out the window told her she better find that case quickly, as the couples' latest fight was turning as ugly as the sky.

Stacy was beginning to pace on the rooftop, stopping at time to rest with her arms on the waist high guard that kept idiots from falling off the roof, if the restricted access signs had not done their jobs. These arguments drained all her energy, leaving her beaten and tired the next day. But he, he was being impossible!

'Not for the first time', the little voice in the back of her mind whispered 'why are you still here?' and, not for the second time, another voice answered, 'because I love so much about him...' When she spoke again, her back turned from the sight of her lover languishing in his wheelchair nearly three months after his infarction, she reminsced about the Greg she used to know.

"_I never knew perfection 'til I heard you speak, and now it kills me just to hear you say the simple things_." She smiled at the recollection of hearing his annoyed voice after she shot him in the ass during that famed doctors versus lawyers paintball game. Now all she heard was him tipping the vicodin bottle, scoffing at her offer of water, listening to him gripe about the pain and the betrayal. 'Never trust a lawyer' he repeated now, a dozen times a day.

House watched her watching the sunset. How, he asked himself, could she be angry at him? Doesn't she realize things will never be the same? He used to play lacrosse, soccer, the occasional tennis game with Wilson. House remembered his frequent late night runs, the only thing that gave his mind a break from the diagnostic puzzles he faced. He used to wake up refreshed, ready to take on the next puzzle, spend time with his girlfriend, best friend or needlessly torture his boss. Now, without the redemption of true rest, he never really wanted to wake.

"_Now waking up is hard to do and sleeping is impossible too_." He started before she cut him off.

"_Everything is reminding me of you.._." Stacy trailed off, remembering their argument this morning when she moved his running shoes. "_What can I do_?" She asked, her voice hitching a little as she wondered aloud how to make this relationship work again. House wondered if she'd even heard him speak in the better part of three months.

"_It's not right, not ok. You say the words that you say_. You told Cuddy to cut up my body with no regard for my, very clearly stated, wishes! _Maybe we're better off this way_?" He repeated her oft stated mantra with a snear. "_I'm not fine, I'm in pain. It's harder everyday. Maybe we're better off this way: It's better that we break_..." Stacy turned now to face him, her face twisted in disbelief.

"_I'd be a fool to let you slip away. I chase you just to hear you say you're scared and that you think that I'm insane_." House snickered, he wouldn't give her the pleasure.

"_The city looks so nice from here pity I can't see it clearly. While you're standing there, it disappears, it disappears _behind the cloud of your betrayal!" His melodramatic streak was back with a vengence.

"What can I do about that now? How do I make that right, Greg?" Her questions were clearly rhetorical but House returned swiftly as he twisted the wheels of his chair manuevuring in front of her.

"Didn't you hear? _It's not right, not ok. You say the words that you say, 'Maybe we're better off this way?' But I'm not fine, I'm in pain, it's harder everyday_." He stopped, watching her for signs of understanding and finding none. Didn't she realize he was being honest for once? "_Maybe we're better off this way, it's better that we break up_-" Stacy shook her head, God only knows how long he'd been sitting outdoors, he was probably disoriented. She jumped in,

"_Saw you sitting all alone. You're fragile and you're cold, but that's all right. Life these days is getting rough, they've knocked you down and beat you up. But it's just a rollercoaster anyway, yeah_."

House rolled his eyes. Wouldn't she let him finish? The last thing he needed was empty platitudes. Oh, the ups and downs of life, isn't it a bitch? Nope, in his experience there was just one bitch to be seen.

"Dammit Stacy, listen! _It's not right, not okay. You say the words that you say_..."

"_Maybe we're better off this way_!" She insisted, "you're alive, you're still here with me, you'll be fine. Lisa says there will be discomfort but you'll live!"

"_I'm not fine, I'm in pain._ In case you didn't hear me the first two times:_ It's harder everyday! Maybe we're better off this way_ because _I'm not fine, not okay_. Let me _say the words that you say, maybe we're better off this way_." He didn't say the words and he didn't need to. It was over. That message finally got through loud and clear and Stacy had no rebuttal left to give.

She nodded once and stooped down, kissing his rough cheek. Silently, she returned to the relative warmth of the hospital and, after awhile, out to her car. House remained on the roof in the damned wheelchair. She'll be out of the townhouse by tomorrow, he imagined, wondering if Mrs. Wilson #2 would let Jimmy have a sleepover tonight...

HHHHHHH

When House made it back into the hospital he groaned audibly at the site of one Lisa Cuddy awaiting his return. He could tell immediately Stacy had gone crying into her arms not moments before. He waited for the barrage of questions with a raised brow. Cuddy faltered when she saw him, still in that damned chair, looking like the sky had fallen.

"How are you?" She managed, without sounding too patronizing.

"_I'm not fine, I'm in pain. It's harder everyday_ to get ahold of that physician who's in charge of my pain management... who was it now... Dr. Cuddles? CuddyWuddlyBear? Cudd..."

"House... you just broke up with your girlfriend of over five years... maybe..." House interrupted her sympathy once again.

"_We're better off this way_." He answered, in a way that made her think they were no longer talking about Stacy. "_It's better that we break_." His gaze fell to the folder in her left hand, tapping an uneven rhythm against her black pencil skirt.

"You have a case," she announced handing over the folder, "if," she held on even as he tried to rip it from her grasp, "you get off your ass." Her right hand came around extending a cane and blue met blue as his will battled against hers. Finally, House took the end of the cane, heaving himself upright until he towered over her again.

"Hello, girls, I've missed you..." he simpered, staring directly at her chest. Cuddy fought a laugh as she released the folder and kicked the wheelchair out of his reach. House was back.

As they began the trek to the elevators House perused the file, convinced he could solve it by the time they got to the patient's room.

"_Baby_?" he inquired as Cuddy pushed the elevator down button for pediatrics.

"Two month old. Born healthy but at the last check-up low sodium..."

END Chapter

AN: Thanks for reading, there will be a second chapter and I love feedback. Also, if there are any readers who are following FTOW, the final two chapters should be up by tomorrow.


	2. Back at Your Door

AN: The second chapter contains lyrics also inspired by Maroon 5. Thank you to the faithful few for reviewing. It's a good thing I don't depend on positive feedback, I'm writing because I love this genre.

Chapter 2: Back at your door

Dr. Gregory House was simply a complicated man, he decided. Throwing back the last drops of scotch he watched the glass atop his piano catch the light from the kitchen. His townhouse was quiet, save for the keystrokes he summoned with his talented fingers, their rich chords washing over him, dulling the week's frustrations not coming close to dulling his chronic physical pain.

He fidgeted on the bench, aching to be outside in the cool Jersey night running as he had done before the infarction had changed the landscape of his leg and stripped him of that simple pleasure.

See? He was simple; he simply wanted things he could never have again. Restless and unwilling to exert the effort to refill his glass, dulling his senses as only physical exhaustion and alcohol seemed capable of doing, his fingers continued to dance over the ivory keys.

He stopped abruptly in the middle of the stanza, hearing someone outside his door, reaching, stretching and eventually taking his hide-a-key from its obviously not well hidden place. It couldn't be Wilson; he had a key from his frequent houseguest status. The ducklings were out, probably gettin' jiggy with it in a janitor's closet which left no one who would bother him on a Friday night.

Reaching for his cane, quite aware he was ill-equipped to fight off an intruder with the bum leg and amount of scotch he'd consumed, House didn't consider that intruders don't usually use keys or come before, say, midnight. According to the mantel clock he wouldn't need to worry for another hour.

When the door was finally pushed open, House was slack jawed at the site of Dr. Cuddy shyly stepping, uninvited, into his home. A quick mental inventory, not an easy task at the site of the puppies in his state of inebriation, told House he had saved his latest patient, gotten full consent for every useless procedure and not made more lawsuit inducing comments than usual. Nope, in this case the father was not a child molester, the mother didn't starve her daughter and no one lied about STDs, he was in the clear.

"Why are you here?" he asked as she shut the door, leaning against it, her body practically melting in forced calm.

"Why'd you stop?" she nodded to the piano that he'd hidden behind. House smirked over the top of the black baby grand, his fingers sliding over the ivory and black keys effortlessly. He played a few bars.

"You like that?" Cuddy nodded again, pushing herself away from the wall with some effort. Kicking off her heels and stripping her overcoat as she walked, she came to stand beside him. House stopped playing, watching her closely.

"You didn't come over to hear me play," Cuddy hummed the tune he'd been playing softly; she would neither confirm nor deny. "You didn't come to yell at me about a patient... don't even give me a new case; six days straight to save poor little Penny."

"Jenny." She correct automatically.

"Right, because that's what matters right now." Cuddy ignored his sarcasm and sat down on the bench, shocking the diagnostician enough that he scooted away, almost sliding off the bench himself. She arched a brow in silent question.

"Gotta make room for that huge ass..."

"Play." She demanded nodding to the keys left untouched for too long.

"Why?"

"I'll tell you when you finish playing." She bargained, her blue orbs sparkling with this childish play he was so fond of.

"And if I don't?" House tapped out the beginning of 'Chopsticks' waiting for her to give herself up. Cuddy didn't take the bait immediately.

"Or I'll go." She answered truthfully, reading him as intently, if not as rapidly, as he was reading her.

_Why are you really here?_

_Do you want me to stay?_

When House lowered his head, closing his eyes as his fingers found the keys again Cuddy had a final request.

"Sing." His head whipped up, who is she kidding?

"There aren't words, Dr. Demanding." He chided. She leaned away from him, resting her elbow on the instrument and closing her eyes, waiting.

"Yes... there are."

Lisa was transported to another word as the notes rose from the intimate space, surrounding her and, after he'd played the first stanza twice, House began to sing, his voice low yet strong.

_"From the moment the lights went off everything had changed. Lie awake in an empty room. In my head it all feels the same_." His soulful voice, lilting with emotion filled Cuddy with regret. He waited for a sign she understood. From the moment he was rendered unconscious in a vein attempt to ride out the pain of the infarction, everything changed for him. He awoke, alone, his thigh irreparably altered, his stubbornness still intact. Cuddy still hadn't moved and House let the next verse come naturally.

"_Like the taste of the day you left that still lingers on my breath. And the dampness of tears that left a stain where you had wept_." House watched her eyes widen as she realized he'd known, known she'd been there after the surgery. He cringed internally, not believing he was telling her the lyrics that came to him. But there was something about her ethereal beauty that just transfixed him. In fact, if Wilson had shown up with tickets to the monster truck rally and sorority girl wet t-shirt contest, it would be a real toss up. House grinned as the next verse formed in the confines of his imagination.

"_All alone with the negligee that still hangs off of my bed. I keep meaning to give it away but I just leave it there instead_." Cuddy narrowed her eyes. _Was he? Yes! He was admitting to stealing her lingerie when he broke into her house with Chase and Foreman._ And she was sure the black piece, one of her favorites, would be in his room if she looked. House almost laughed, her face was priceless.

"_No need to cry about it, I cannot live without it_."

"You're going to have to." She threatened, turning toward his room. House's next words, full of longing, a part of his emotional repertoire left untouched, stopped her.

_"Every time I wind up back at your door. Why do you do this to me? You penetrate right through me. And every time I wind up back at your door_." Cuddy turned to face him again. In her mind's eye she could see him sopping wet from the university fountain outside her bedroom window, crashing her date, just showing up at hours he was most likely to see her in various stages of undress. But always back at her door.

"_Three more days 'til I see your face I'm afraid it's far too much_."

"Monday, House, that's two days." She admonished, wondering if he would change the lyrics.

"I'm sick, Dr. Cuddy," he whined, "Ahh-choo, can't make it in. Sorry, boss." She rolled her eyes at his excuse and he continued; his eyes fixed on the front door.

"_Cook a meal and fix up the place. Dial your number, hang it up_." Cuddy arched a brow and glanced around skeptically.

"This is your idea of clean? And you _cook?_" House rolled his eyes in response.

"I'm so sorry but 'the maid was just here and I stole Wilson's lunch' just doesn't rhyme as well." Cuddy laughed as House played on, working out the next verses, enjoying the sight of her relaxed and calm in his presence. It was a rare sight.

"You want to have dinner with me? Why House?" Cuddy was suspicious and with good reason.

"_If I took you for granted I apologize for acting tough_." Cuddy felt, not as much as saw, his struggle and looked down, opting to rest her hand on his uninjured thigh.

"Go on," she encouraged, rubbing the pant leg of his jeans. House couldn't stop the next line of song if he'd tried.

"_You're my reason for living and there's no way I'm giving up_."

"Bullshit." Cuddy had not realized she'd spoken until he stopped playing, his head whipping around again to search her out, test his limits as only House knew how. She swallowed the lump in her throat and asked,

"How does it end?" He returned to the song, hoping he could find a way to end the song, convince her he would not be giving up.

"_Don't need to cry about it, I cannot live without it. Every time I wind up back at your door_." This time around Cuddy joined in, her sweet voice melding with his.

"_Why do you do this to me? You penetrate right through me. Every time I wind up back at your door_." She laughed lightly at the irony.

"Tonight it was me at your door." House did not acknowledge the humor and moved on, his voice deep.

"_Now every evening is a bitter fight and I'm eating home alone on a Friday night. I know what your friends say, "you're just wasting your love and time," But I will never let you change your mind_." Cuddy stopped breathing at his words. Was it love that brought her back? It was so easy to do under the guise of protecting a valuable hospital asset from himself, but love? She exhaled sharply.

"I should probably get my negligee and go now." Cuddy stood but couldn't leave. Not until the song finished.

"_No need to cry about it, I cannot live without it, every time I wind up back at your door_." His message was clear, I'll be back, and you won't change your mind about caring for me. House simply would not allow it.

"House, why?" She asked earnestly, watching him from her vantage point at the corner of the instrument he played so intently. He answered in song.

"_Why do you do this to __**me**__? You penetrate right through me, every time I wind up back at your door_."

"Just be honest. Why me? Why now?"

"_No need to cry about it, I may just die without it, every time I wind up back at your door_." His eyes met hers again, boring into her soul. Cuddy caught her breath to keep from hyperventilating. She knew House, his nature was to dig, to solve the puzzles before him and then to toss them aside when he figured them out. Pass them on... someone else's problem; usually her problem. But what would happen when she became someone else's problem?

"_Why do you do this to me? You penetrate right through me, every time I wind up back at your door_." Her voice was clear and her challenge apparent. I come, you hurt, I leave. You come, you hurt, I send you away. Every time; without fail. House rose from his seat now, hobbling toward her, his cane forgotten on the floor.

"Because, Lisa, _every time I wind up back at your door. Every time I wind up back at __**your**__ door_." He leaned slightly, resting his hip on the piano, cradling his bad leg off the floor. Cuddy reached out, steadying her friend. They stood, in the silence of the moment, each searching for answers. Answers that could not be found in song.

END Chapter

AN: Thanks to Melissa for the beta work and letting me rant about the horrid, horrid ending to the season premier of Criminal Minds tonight. House last night, in stark comparison, was sublime. I'm still in awe.


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